


I Can See Your Eyes Staring Into mine (But It's A Battlefield)

by Fake_Brit



Category: Scandal (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8878840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fake_Brit/pseuds/Fake_Brit
Summary: "It starts as it always has; Rough delivery of facts and goals and as many details as possible." Jake from pre!S2 to the last scene of s5





	

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in months and this has been sitting undone for just as much post catch up and me loving Jake so deeply. So, there, you have it.

To Pri for a zillion of  
reasons: the endless chatting, the freaking out about Stuff and TV and  
the Love being only a few

It starts with a hard look—which, in and of itself, wouldn’t be much of a breaking news.

This is Rowan, after all. His entire repertoire of gestures—a handshake (the fictional crack of fingers echoes somewhere in his head. Where exactly this is happening is a mystery of sorts, though; he’s had a lot to hide and forget, and as metaphorical as both acts may be, that means his head is as close as he’s ever been—and will ever be, the odds hiss—to an even remotely accurate representation of an abyss), a nod. Even a tight-lipped (false, duh) smile—could be described as hard, in one degree or another.

It starts as it always has; Rough delivery of facts and goals and as many details as possible.

It starts, but Jake Ballard has no idea that it will lead somewhere else than a secluded location and his usual, empty “It’s done,” disappearing into a burner phone.

-:-

He won’t deny it. Command’s daughter… she is, well—she’s a surprise.

Aside from the obvious unexpected thing that most—if not all—of America cannot know of— _that surely must’ve fuelled Command’s pride, on a certain level_ , he snorts mildly. It’s the closest to horrified he’s ever seen him, he muses. Which, given who he’s referring to, kind of amazes him and creeps him out in equal measures. _One-nil for Olivia Pope._

He’s gotta admit, tastes aside—after years, that kind of finery is almost like a mark to him; hidden in plain sight, and yet so fucking bright that sometimes he finds himself blinking, because his body just _reacts_ and his whole being tighten and he can fucking feel the Hole closing in on his skin, darkness in tow—their connection is pretty much undetectable. 

Something jars the relatively stunning picture, though; she’s sad. It’s subtle, sure, but he spots it: her eyes are trained— almost glued, really—to the cup she’s holding, although she looks a thousand miles away, seeing anything but the crowded bar; her entire body looks like deflated balloon, forgotten and ghost-like.

(He’ll hate him, later—ardently, but only when he’s staring at her, unseen and supposedly unattached, committing everything to memory; movements, sighs, habits. Every little thing that makes Olivia Pope Liv—now, the way she’s holding it together and flirting back at him, her expression lifted, finally far away from paralysis, it all makes him want to stay)

-:-

Which he ended up actually doing. His teeth sink down on his lower lip hard, but he barely feels the blood on his tongue— _goddamn him._

How many times had he tried to escape all of this? 

(Too many to count)

He’d never actually managed to do it, of course—where would the fuckedupness of it all be, otherwise?—but he’d (still does; always will, probably) long for the sun on his skin ~~as he kisses her and holds her and keeps her close~~

~~ ( _I miss you; I love you; she’s perfect but she’s not you)_ ~~

“Tell Liv I’m chasing the sun,” he grunts, angry and desperate and longing-filled.

( ~~run away with me; just say the word, liv;)~~

(I’m here for you)

Davis nods, the meaning lost on him and hope—that relentless iron thing he wishes he hadn’t found, because it will fucking vanish; it’s not pessimism, but logic—roaring and heating and living up and up and up.

-:-

“Your face saved me,” he told her once, a lifetime ago, if he’s upfront about it.

Looking at her as he ties his tie, though, he feels like it was another lie.

He goes on stage, smiling as if he wants nothing more than this, his thoughts stuck on

~~ (save me save me;  ~~ _ you saved me) _

A phrase that seems to have lost meaning.

(her hand in his, strong and sure; her fear out in the open for him; her teasing; her skin and arms and legs and screams and whispers)

He’s still chasing the sun for her. And he hopes she’ll take his hand again and stand there, in the warmth, eventually.

(He’s smiling on that stage—her eyes are on him; he feels them, hot and deep and heavy; once his safe heaven, currently the center of his bottomless hell—his hand clasping Mellie’s and it—he—looks firm and sturdy and handsome, but in reality he feels like his own body has finally turned—or gone back—to wood. )

He will never stop chasing that goddamn helium-fuelled star, but he’s got to (at least) admit it to his permanently messed up self; now more than ever, the openness he aspired to—longed for so intensively, even—seems nothing but a faded dream he’d—will—only laugh about. And not in the cheerful way, mind you.

The whole situation makes him ache and bleed and a million of other things he has way too many detailed descriptions of, but he can’t put a break to it—never could’ve done it; only convinced himself, like the fool he is—let alone stop it for good.

He can feel Rowan laughing. He’s laughing in that empty way of his, bitter to the bone, ricocheting through Jake’s head like a song he has heard so many times and is now carved into his brain. 

Yeah, grim and gore have officially become the only—relentless—constant of his life. Ain’t that grand? 

The sun blurs into blood stains and the night and the Hole slamming closed as his voice fires up at the wall.

It flickers and dims and blinds him all over again; it’s a cycle he’s been stuck in for years, and yet he’s fallen right back into it every time.

He thought he’d found a way out but—

Liv.

(“ _I will save you”_

_ “Man, I love you” _

_ The wall fell; she saw him and he saw her.) _

He’d found someone to chase the sun and with and that someone’s now officially made into a puppet as the sun fades away.

 

 

 


End file.
